


Game Night: Crossover

by Bushwah



Category: Fake AH Crew (Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter), Garry's Mod
Genre: 'trouble in terrorist town'-typical cop roleplay, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Banter, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Cannibalism, Choking, Collars, Consensual Non-Consent, Consent, D/s, Daddy Kink, Death Jokes, Death Threats, Deception, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Experience Difference, Exsanguination, Face-Fucking, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Fashion & Couture, Fear of Drowning, Female Jack Pattillo, Feminization, Flirting, Gunplay, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Intrigue, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Knifeplay, Leashes, Light Cock and Ball Torture, Makeover, Multi, Murder Kink, Nausea, Necrophilia, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Predator/Prey, Rape Roleplay, Safeword Use, Sexual Content, Slut Shaming, Spit Kink, Suspense, Suspension Of Disbelief, Temporary Character Death, Trans Female Jack Pattillo, Voyeurism, a joke at the expense of vegans, betrayal kink, end of life planning but like jokingly, ex/voy, fear kink, red/yellow/green safewords, reference to clowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26045161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bushwah/pseuds/Bushwah
Summary: The Fakes can play Murder with live weapons due to the machine that grants them immortality, and they've just added a new pair of players.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Michael Jones, Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood, Geoff Ramsey/Original Male Character(s), Jeremy Dooley/Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones/Jack Pattillo/Geoff Ramsey, Jeremy Dooley/Original Male Character(s), Jeremy Dooley/Ryan Haywood, Original Male Character & Original Male Character, Ryan Haywood/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raylynn_Writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raylynn_Writes/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Game Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512298) by [Threatie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threatie/pseuds/Threatie), [Wrespawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrespawn/pseuds/Wrespawn). 



> There is violence, including (temporarily) lethal violence, and sexual activity in this fic. Some of it is in the context of a roleplayed scenario where consent is compromised or absent. However, everyone in the roleplay is willingly participating and has a safeword.
> 
> Sundira, Sachi, Shaia, and Shane Zimari belong to our very own Raylynn_Writes and I am using them in this fic with permission. They are siblings. They do not sexually interact with each other in any way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional content warning that I can't find a good canonical tag for: minor food issues that could be read as, but that I do not intend as, disordered eating. (Not the cannibalism; that's mostly if not entirely separate.)

The game is called Murder, and this is Sundira's first time playing.

He's nervous when he takes his box to the starting spot in an office at the edge of the warehouse, escorted by one Gavin Free (“don't want you getting lost, boy!”). He hides it, though, acting nonchalant and at ease, and Gavin delivers him (“stay here 'til the round starts, yeah?”) and skips on to his own start location.

“When do we start?” Michael asks over the coms.

“In a bit, I'm placing Sachi,” Jack reports.

It had taken Sundira time to be able to recognize them by voice, but he's pretty accurate now, aside from Jack and Ryan. He only knows this is Jack because Jack was the one who was going to show Sachi where to start. Jeremy says the secret is that Ryan always sounds like he's going to kill someone.

“I'm hungry,” Michael complains.

“Don't worry. You won't be for long.” That has to be Ryan.

“If I'm the killer, I'll go for you first,” Jeremy contributes. “Assuming you're willing to play nice, of course.”

“Nah, Mogar doesn't need a mercy kill.” Sundira can see Michael's feral smile in his mind's eye. “If you come for me, you'd best be ready.”

“Okay, I'm in position,” Jack says.

“I am as well,” Sachi reports.

The twins are sitting this one out, waiting in the respawn room to make sure their siblings are all right. Sundira takes a deep breath. “I think it's time.”

“Right then,” Geoff says. “Let's play Murder.”

Sundira opens his box, and catches his breath. He's armed. But not with the knife.

He's started with the gun.

“So what's in _your_ boxes?” Sundira asks, stalling.

“Empty,” Jeremy says, “or I have the knife.”

“Also empty, no knife for Jack.”

“Which one is it?” Gavin asks.

“That's for me to know and you to find out.”

“Boy, I wish snack was an option,” Michael jokes. “I've got nothing.”

“Nada,” Geoff says.

“Well, if you're lying about that—no hard feelings, by the way—you're free to take bites,” Jeremy says. “Make sure they're dead first, though.”

“Aww, can't I be a scavenger?” Gavin says.

“You don't know where that body's been,” Geoff admonishes.

“Killer gets first meat.” Jeremy's right, Ryan is easy to identify.

“You'd think you were defending your own rights from that assertion.” Michael.

“Does Ryan have the knife or does he just _wish_ he had the knife?” That's Jeremy. “I mean, I'm not getting close to him if I can help it, but...”

“Mm, well, I definitely wish I had the knife. Don't even have any parts yet.”

“Speaking of,” Jack says, “who started with the gun?”

Sundira taps the barrel of the gun with his fingers, and stays quiet.

“Is the gunner down already?” Michael's voice is wary. “Who's still here?”

“I'm here!”

“Pity, that,” Geoff chimes in.

“ _Hey._ ”

“Present.”

“Whoever it was would've had to've gone down silently, I didn't hear a scuffle.”

“I'm alive.” Jack seems confused.

“Ryan? Shit, where's Ryan?”

“Well, looks like Ryan had the gun,” Geoff concludes. “Killer's still on the loose. Personally, my money's on Jeremy.”

Sundira wonders if it's Jack. Whoever the killer was would've known they didn't get the gunner. The killer's probably the most confused of all of them.

...Unless it's Sachi. Sachi probably knows exactly what he's up to. He hopes Sachi didn't start as the killer—his youngest brother's stealth is legendary, and the hair on the back of Sundira's neck stands up. He whirls around—no one there.

He should probably be patrolling, looking for the killer. He glances around the room one last time, as if the killer could be hiding there, and sets out into the warehouse.

“Wonder where Ryan died?” That's Michael.

“Why, looking to take a bite?”

“He had the gun!”

“Hey, no reason you can't treat yourself while you're there. But I wouldn't get too hung up on where Ryan died. I have three parts already.”

“Any dupes?”

“Not counting the extra grip I left behind, no.”

Geoff whistles. “Li'l J knows this map like the back of his hand.”

“Y'ever think about how little you actually know the back of your hand? I mean, I look at it all day, but if you showed me a picture of the back of the hand of twenty white guys I bet I couldn't pick mine out.”

“I could,” Michael says. “I'd look for the one with the— _Ryan?_ ”

Sundira tenses. There's no good reason for Ryan to still be alive.

“Yes, yes,” Ryan says. “Nice to see you too, Michael. Hoping you don't have the knife so I can pass by peacefully.”

“So Ryan didn't have the gun?”

“Ryan's the killer.”

“Well, he hasn't killed me _yet_.”

Sundira realizes he's stopped again, listening to the chatter on the coms. He takes a deep breath, looks around, and keeps walking, listening closely to see if one of the voices picks up an echo.

“Well, he really did just walk by and leave me alive,” Michael says, “but I still don't trust him as far as I could throw him. I don't think he had the gun?”

“Yeah, that's the problem,” Jeremy adds. “Who the fuck has the gun?”

“I bet it's one of the newbies,” Geoff says. “Which does not explain why Ryan's being shifty.”

“I'm _always_ shifty,” Ryan says. “I like to kill, what can I say?”

“We love you.”

“Aw, thanks, J. Don't suppose you'd demonstrate your love by getting within stabbing range?”

“Public service announcement, don't get within stabbing range of Ryan.”

“Even if he doesn't have the knife,” Geoff says. “Stabbing range is well within range for _other things_.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sachi asks.

Jeremy laughs. “Don't worry about it.”

“Sex,” Gavin stage-whispers.

“Oh, sex,” Sachi says. “I thought it was going to be something interesting. Say, are we allowed to kill people without the knife?”

“Only if you have it,” Jack says. “If you're the killer, you're allowed to kill. Bystanders can fight back but no lethal force.”

“Aww.”

“Unless,” Jeremy says, and Sundira can hear the repressed anger in his voice. It sends a shiver down his spine even before he hears the next words. “You have a _gun_. Which one of you does.”

Michael sighs expansively. “Has anyone died yet?”

“No meat from me,” Geoff quips.

“Meat neither,” Sachi adds.

“Mondays,” Jack-or-Ryan says.

“Huh?” Sachi asks.

“Meatless Mondays,” Jeremy explains. “Like veganism but for people with commitment issues.”

“Still alive.” Also Jack or Ryan.

“What was the deal with your vanishing act, anyway?” Michael still sounds suspicious. Okay, that was Ryan. Personally, Sundira doesn't think he's the killer. It might be Jeremy.

“Your fear amuses me.”

“Classic Ryan,” Jeremy mutters. “Well, if anyone comes up with the gun— _grrk_!”

Jeremy's making muffled noises, but none of them sound like a name—there's something in his mouth, keeping him from speaking. His panting gets shallower, and then stops.

And then there are seven.

“At least somebody got the ball rolling,” Geoff says.

“Come off it,” Gavin interjects, “who the 'ell killed him? We were all talking. I wasn't near him, who was?”

“Nobody was,” Michael says. “We were all talking, except... Sundira. Heh. _You_ could've done it. Sundira's the killer, and Sachi has the gun.”

“I didn't do anything,” Sundira says calmly.

“Spoken like a true killer.” That's Geoff, and he sounds excited. “Whoever the _fuck_ has a gun, better aim for Sundira.”

“Anybody have parts? Besides Jeremy.”

“I have two,” Jack says. “Keep an eye out for J's body; it'll be a treasure trove.”

“More like a military supply outpost,” Michael says, “what with the gun parts and the MREs.”

“Well, the killer probably took 'em,” Geoff says. “That's what I would've done.”

“After how that went for Jeremy? I think not.”

“Maybe the killer put them back in the boxes,” Gavin says. “Made a little less work for me.”

“If you want help resetting the maps, you can ask,” Geoff says.

“Naw, you'd do it wrong.”

“Eyy, it's Gavvy!” Michael says. “Wanna give your boy a kiss?”

“Ooh, the kiss of death? I'd love to.”

Sundira hears the sound of... making out?

“You wanna drink my blood, boy, you know I'm all yours,” Gavin murmurs.

“Fff... I don't have the knife.”

“That's a real pity then. What say you we have some fun?”

“...fuck it, sure.”

“Wanna suck my dick?”

“ _Fuck_ no. Other way around?”

Sundira tunes them out and scopes out the area. He's in a broad room with a corrugated ceiling. He listens closely, and hears footsteps.

“Ooh, you know how much I love to choke on your cock,” Gavin's saying, drowning them out.

Then there's other sounds coming through the mic. Sundira moves forward, back, goes into the hallway and paces up and down. He hears the footsteps again, but it's not clear which direction they're coming from. He eases his com off his ear and turns his head from side to side.

There! He puts the com back on and creeps toward the person.

Then there's a sudden change in the noises from the canoodling pair. Michael makes a startled sound, then a wheeze, then a sound that might have been “aah!” or might have been an attempt to name the killer. Gavin gives a muffled scream. There's some thumping. Silence for a moment, another.

“Okay,” Geoff says. Sundira hears him twice and almost jumps. “Who's still alive?”

“Me,” Sundira says softly, and takes a wary step back, toward the large room.

“You're clear,” Geoff says, “sorry for the false alarm.” Sundira nods thanks before realizing Geoff can't see him.

“Me too.” That's Ryan or Jack.

“Uh, Jack?” Geoff asks. No answer is forthcoming. “Fuck.” Geoff has passed by Sundira, apparently without noticing him. Sundira peeks around the corner and sees Geoff's back retreating. He elects not to follow.

“I'm alive!”

“Okay, that's suspicious as _fuck_ ,” Jack says. “What happened to Michael?”

“Well you see, one moment I was blowing my boy, and then the next I was blowing his corpse,” Gavin says. “Killer snuck up behind him and slit his throat.”

“And who was this killer?” Geoff asks.

“Jeremy! He's not dead, he killed Michael!”

“That's a load of bullshit,” Ryan says.

“Yeah, that's a killer Gavin move,” Geoff says. “Hey, Sachi, you still alive?”

No answer.

“Well _fuck_.”

“If you see Jeremy, kill him,” Ryan says wearily, “but otherwise we can assume Gavin's full of shit.”

“I'm not!” Gavin whines. “Jeremy's alive!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sundira looks down the hall where Geoff had been. He's disappeared into the maze of corridors. Sundira goes the opposite direction, looking for Gavin.

“So, Gavin,” Geoff says conversationally, “if you were a killer, where would you be hiding?”

“I don't bloody know, I'm not the killer!”

“Hah. Good one, Gavvy,” Ryan says. “Do go on defending yourself, making those lovely noises. Let everybody know where you are.”

“Does it matter? I don't have a fucking gun, do you?”

“...I've got parts.”

“Yeah, same,” Geoff says, “but nobody's found Jeremy or Sachi, Jer had all those parts and _Sachi_ probably had the gun. Unless Sundira does.”

“None of this makes any bloody sense,” Gavin wails.

“Sure it does,” Geoff says. “You're the killer, the gun didn't fucking _disappear_ , somebody's gonna find Sachi and shoot you. Or put together parts. One or the other.”

There's a tap on Sundira's shoulder.

Sundira whirls around and sees Sachi. He has the gun up, but hesitates to shoot—it's _Sachi_ , his hindbrain says, you can't shoot _Sachi_ —and then it's too late, and Sachi is embracing him, with his mouth by Sundira's ear.

“I'm alive,” Sachi whispers. “You've had the gun this whole time, yeah?”

Sundira nods. Sachi _can't_ be the killer. Gavin didn't say Sachi was there.

“Let me follow you,” Sachi says. “If you guess wrong, I'll avenge you.”

After a pause, Sundira nods again.

Despite the fact that it's a game, and Sachi would probably betray him as soon as look at him to get a shot at winning, Sundira feels safer with Sachi at his back. The pair of them prowl the halls as the game continues.

“Hey, Gavin, did you go back to Sachi's body, or are you still looking for victims?”

“I don't bloody know where Sachi died!” Gavin whisper-shouts. “Maybe _Sachi's_ the killer, didja think about that?”

Sachi darts up next to Sundira and whispers in his ear again. “Gavin's nearby.”

Sachi's not wrong about things like that. “Oh, Gavin,” Sundira singsongs. “Are you hiding? Don't worry, I didn't find Sachi.” ( _Sachi_ found _him_.)

“'Course I'm bloody hiding, how has Jeremy not run into anybody?”

“That's a question,” Ryan acknowledges. “Geoff, you didn't happen to see Jeremy's body, did you?”

Silence.

“Geoff? Aw, _fuck_.” Ryan whistle-sighs. “Sundira, how many parts do you have?”

“...I've got the gun,” Sundira admits.

“Okay, it's me and you and Gavin left. Don't shoot me, please. If we run into each other, give me your parts, okay?”

“Deal.”

“This is all a big misunderstanding,” Gavin says a little too loudly, and Sachi points.

Sundira stalks forward. This is his chance. He could win. Beginner's luck? Maybe. But with Sachi on his side...

He rounds a corner and sees Gavin trying to tiptoe away. “Got you,” he says.

Gavin puts his hands up. “It's not me, you can strip search me if you want, I swear it's not me!”

“The killer is allowed to hide the knife,” Ryan says. “It's him.”

This time, Sundira doesn't hesitate.

_Bang._

Sundira's vision distorts, and he sways on his feet. There was a person, and suddenly, there isn't a person anymore. He's seen the Fakes die before, when he was playing dungeon monitor for the twins, but he's never _caused_ it.

“Sunsun?” That's Shaia, and he leans on Sachi, and closes his eyes for a moment. “You did fine, Gavin's gonna be fine. You can stop the scene if you want. You can take a pause. Or, you can keep going.”

“Yellow,” Sundira says, and kneels on the ground. For a second he thinks he's going to be sick. Then the feeling passes, and he takes Sachi's hand and pulls himself to his feet. “Right, okay, I'm good to keep playing,” he says. “Although... aren't we done?”

“About that,” Gavin says.

Gavin was not the killer.

“Okay, Li'l J,” Ryan says, “what the _fuck_.”

“I _knew_ nobody would believe Gavin,” Jeremy says smugly.

“You two-faced rat bastard,” Ryan says. “I'm going to kill you.”

“Sachi's still alive, by the way,” Jeremy says. “Unless he somehow managed to die without me. Sundira, get out your cuffs. Sachi... Well. I'll be coming for you next.”

“Are you _sure_ you're okay?” Shaia presses.

Sachi nods next to him, and Sundira smiles a little. “Thanks, Shy,” he says, donning the cuffs with something of his former dignity. “I'll be fine. Not much left to do but die, and that's the _least_ scary part of the game.”

“Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that,” Jeremy says. “I'll go easy on you if you want, though.”

Sundira grits his teeth. A moment of weakness isn't the same as giving up. “I wanna be killed,” he says, “by Rimmy Tim himself, if he thinks he can get his hands on me.”

“ _Good._ ”

Sachi scoops up the gun with a wink. Sundira fiddles with the cuffs. He used to be a dab hand at getting out of these. He wonders if his skills are up to the challenge—if he'll be able to escape before Jeremy gets him.

“Hey, uh, ghost Gavin, did I put these on right?”

It's a moment before there's a reply. “Sure did, boy.” Gavin sounds distracted. The mic picks up other sounds from the respawn room.

Sundira feels out his range of motion. Sachi has disappeared; Sundira doesn't know where he went, but he has the gun, so he should be safe. Sundira, on the other hand... Moving quickly wearing the cuffs without making a racket is going to be a challenge.

He makes a little noise of satisfaction when he finds the knob.

He sits down, takes off one of his shoes (wincing at the jangling of the cuffs), and twists the knob with his toe. The cuffs fall open.

Sundira puts the cuffs back in his pocket, puts back on his shoe, and smiles.

When he hears footsteps, he draws back behind a door and holds absolutely still, not even breathing. Jeremy does a perfunctory check behind the door and jumps back when he sees Sundira. Sundira's eyes dart to either side of him. No escape. The door he'd tried to hide behind is now evident as a trap.

“Well, well, well,” Jeremy says. “If it isn't our new friend.” His eyes narrow. “Did Gavin let you out already?”

“Huh?”

“...We'll talk about it after the game. Now, I know you said you wanted the full Rimmy Tim experience,” he says, “but I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry, so this will have to do.”

Jeremy takes a confident step forward, pressing his body against Sundira's, and kisses him.

Sundira returns the kiss, letting Jeremy have him. This is the part that fascinated him the most, when the Fakes were talking about how the game was played. What it would feel like to be with the killer, and know he was going to die.

The knife bites into his leg, and Jeremy knows what he's doing; Sundira feels his pants becoming drenched in blood. It's getting on Jeremy, too, and Jeremy—Jeremy _likes_ it.

“Pity you won't last long enough for me to use you properly,” Jeremy says. “That's the problem with blood. You get greedy and suddenly it's over.”

Sundira is greying out again, but this time it's not so bad. “Next time,” he says to Jeremy, and passes out.

He wakes up in the respawn room.

“That,” Shaia says, “was _not_ your fault.”

“You acted on the best evidence you had,” Shane says. “Jeremy was being sneaky.”

“I mean you could've believed me.”

“There's something else that's not his fault,” Geoff says in a serious voice.

“...yeah?”

“Well,” Jack says, “you're not technically supposed to get out of the cuffs.”

“It's a safety feature,” Geoff explains, “so that you _can_ , if you need to, but that's... you're supposed to safeword.”

“Oh.”

“But you didn't know,” Jack repeats. “So it's fine, just... don't do it again, yeah?”

“We really should've noticed at the time,” Michael admits, “but I was sorta... busy.”

Sundira looks at the Fakes in the respawn room, all in various states of undress. “I see.”

“So we're all willing to let you off the hook, you didn't really do anything wrong,” Gavin says. “But ordinarily there'd be a trial and punishment, if the rule-breaker's okay with that. So if you _do_ do it again...”

“I didn't know it was a rule,” Shaia puts in, “or I'd've told you.”

“Yeah, same,” Shane concurs without looking away from the screens. “Stuff's happening, by the way.”

Sundira watches as Sachi silently accepts a bullet from Ryan and loads it into his gun. He's pretty sure Sachi hasn't said anything into his mic since Geoff declared him dead.

“What happens if the person on trial gets convicted?”

“Well,” Gavin says, “in the _next_ round, they have to wear a collar. With bells on it, so everyone gets to hear them coming. Huge pain in the ass, it is. Real pretty, though.”

Sachi shoots Jeremy in the back of the head at point-blank range. Jeremy never knew he was there.

Michael hits the unmute button, and a cheer goes up in the respawn room. On the screen, Sachi wears a small triumphant smile.

Sundira is smiling, too. “Ignorance of the law is no excuse,” he says, once the congratulations have died down enough for him to be heard. “I'll go on trial.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So which one d'you think looks the best?”

Gavin holds up Sundira's wrists.

Jack sighs. “He looks like he's been scribbled on.”

“Aww, the _color_ , though?”

“Wash him off and try again.”

Gavin tugs up on Sundira's leash, then hauls him to his feet with one surprisingly strong arm. The pressure on the lead doesn't go past that—the point isn't to hang him. This is just another demonstration of their power over him.

It's not in the rules of Murder that a rule-breaker has to be collared _between_ rounds, but Sundira had insisted.

Gavin drags him along to the bathroom, fills the sink with water, and dunks Sundira's forearms in it. Jack follows to supervise.

“Let me,” Jack says, as Gavin comically fails to remove the lipstick from his arms. She takes a rough sponge and scrubs _hard_. Sundira hisses in pain, and she pauses. “You okay?”

Sundira grins. “Green.”

* * *

They end up going with the periwinkle blue.

Sundira holds still as a statue while Jack paints his face. She already shaved him, warm lather and steady hands with the collar on the bathroom counter, and now she's doing his eyes. Gavin disappeared at some point, losing interest, and Ryan is watching.

She explains everything she does before she does it. She'd offered to surprise him completely, but he had wanted the information. However, she doesn't _ask_ ; it's her way or the highway. (Unless he safewords.)

“You're doing so well, honey,” she says, and he smiles a little, carefully. “When I'm done, don't touch it, okay? You're our pretty doll, don't want you getting all smudged up.”

His nails have already been painted, teal and silver. Jack's brush sweeps out, away from his eyes, and Sundira wonders what she's doing.

“Oh, you look lovely,” she says. “Don't you think he looks lovely?”

Ryan grunts. “Can't wait to see what the killer does with it.”

“Now, now,” Jack teases. “No need for pessimism. It'd be a shame to mess up a piece of art like this.”

* * *

Sundira steps into the dress feeling a little like he's gotten in over his head.

Ryan and Jack are watching him hungrily. When the skintight black dress is all the way on, it barely covers the tops of his thigh-high socks.

He feels for the position of the garter. “Will this really hide the knife?” he asks in a shaky voice.

Ryan steps close and grabs his leg, measuring out handspans. Sundira flails for balance, setting the collar jingling, and ends up clinging to Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan chuckles. “Well enough. Why? You think you could _win_ in that thing?” He steps back, and Sundira obediently lets go.

“It'd help if you could keep your legs together,” Jack muses. “But looking like this? Everyone's going to want a piece of you. I wouldn't count on being able to hide the knife.”

Sundira looks down bashfully.

“Do you know that you're doing it?” Ryan asks.

“D-doing what?”

“The shy act,” Jack says. “Is it on purpose? Or are you just...”

“Um... some of both.” Sundira's voice is high and uncertain. “I'm definitely nervous, but... I also like when you look at me like that...”

“Like what?”

“Like you think I'm... cute, I guess.” Sundira looks up. His cheeks are hot. “I want to be... taken. By a confident, experienced killer.” He fixes Ryan with a look that isn't quite a glare, and drops his voice a little. “Since you're so sure I'm going to die.”

“That _is_ sort of traditional for the collar-wearer,” Jack says. “Although it's not a guarantee. Mostly because the killer knows they can always find you later, so there's no rush.”

“Hey, do you want to take a before picture?”

“Little late for that.”

“No. Before...”

“... _Oh_. Yes, let's. No mirrors, but a camera's fine, right?”

“As long as I can't see it,” Sundira says.

“Right then, it's settled.” Jack looks around. “Where's Gavin?”

* * *

Ryan clips the leash back onto Sundira's collar and leads him out to meet the crew.

Jeremy whistles. “Hot _damn_ you look good in that.”

“Jack says I'm a pretty doll,” Sundira relates proudly.

“Prettier than you,” Michael agrees. “Li'l J going full orange, I see.”

Jeremy is wearing a flame print jumpsuit. A blue cape that looks like a wave douses his back. Sundira squints.

“Trying something new!” Jeremy says. “Ryan's got the purple, anyway.”

Ryan waves. He's wearing a purple... blouse? His pants are navy blue and he has a grey scarf around his neck.

Sundira looks around—Jack is still wearing her wine-red dress, but Gavin is wearing a tan suit with a pink button-up shirt, and Geoff is in a regular black-and-white suit with a floral print tie and a hat topped with a precarious-looking assortment of fruits: grapes, bananas, a tomato.

“Why's everyone all dressed up?” he asks.

“Well, you do seem to have cleaned up _very_ nicely,” Geoff says. “And what a coincidence, there's a game on tonight.”

Sundira's eyes widen, feigning surprise. “O-oh?”

Geoff smiles. “Looks like you're going to have to play _en femme_.”

Sundira tries to turn and go, only to be stopped by reaching the end of his lead. “At least let me wash my face first!”

“No can do,” Ryan says. “Everybody's eager to start.”

“Trust me,” Jeremy adds, “you don't want to keep the Fakes waiting.”

Sundira allows himself to be bundled into the backseat of one of the cars, flanked by Michael and Ryan. When Jack starts the car, Ryan unclips the lead again.

“There's nowhere to run,” Ryan murmurs in his ear. “And if you try... _someone_ would _love_ to hunt you down.”

“How fast are you, anyway?” Michael asks casually.

“Usually? Fast enough. In this getup, though?” Sundira tugs sullenly at the collar. “I'll be lucky if I can outrun _Gavin_.”

“Oi.”

“Gavin's faster than me,” Geoff says.

“My mistake,” Sundira says coolly. “Didn't want to make an enemy of someone who was actually competent.”

“ _Oi._ ”

* * *

“Boy, it'd be nice to get the knife this time,” Jeremy says over coms.

Sundira's eyes dart over the deck of the boat. “Why?” he asks quietly. Gods, every movement threatens to set the collar off. Even the slight rock of the sea translates to a light tinkle, metal shifting against metal. Why did he think this was a good idea?

“So he can cut that dress off of you, I assume,” Geoff says. “'S what I'd do.”

“The boss has the right of it,” Jeremy growls. “Did you think you were going to get away with looking like that? _Everyone_ is going to want to get their hands on you.”

“Agreed,” Jack says. “I certainly will. And you, you'll make it easy. Won't you, sweetheart?”

Sundira takes a last look around ( _all that water_ ) and ducks inside. He's a target out there.

He's a target anywhere. But he'll take the illusion of safety where he can get it.

* * *

When the game starts, Sundira opens his box.

Nothing there. “Well, I might be the killer,” he jokes.

“Hear that?” Michael's tone is equally light. “Sunsun's the killer this time. Or at least, that's what he'd like us to think.”

“You're not convinced?” Gavin asks.

“Well,” Michael says, drawing the word out, “I'll say this much: I'm not going to shoot him on sight.”

“You have the gun?” Sachi's voice is soft. Threatening, in a quiet way. Sundira smiles. That's his li'l bro.

“Yep. You hear that, Sundira? I'm going to wait to kill you until I have hard evidence.”

“What, like a boner?” Gavin banters.

“Some of us think with the head up here,” Michael says loftily.

“Gah!” Gavin screeches. Sundira freezes. (Even _that_ makes the bells jangle.) “Jeremy what are you doing?”

“Mostly seeing how long it took before you noticed,” Jeremy says. “Hey, wanna team up? A lot to find on this map: gun parts, Sundira...”

“After how that went for you, Li'l J? I'm surprised,” Michael comments.

“...Geoff's dignity, ooh, your prostate...”

Sundira goes back to creeping through the enclosed areas of the boat, wincing every time the bells jangle.

“Don't rule out that he has the knife,” Geoff says dryly. “That is sort of how it went last time.”

“And it worked wonderfully,” Jack says. “Do go on and join him, Gavin; you look so good with a knife in your back.”

“Tempting,” Gavin says, “but I'd rather not get knifed. 'Sides, we've got a better chance of finding those things if we split up.” He sighs mournfully. “Not counting my happy spot.”

“Hold on,” Geoff says. “I hear something.”

Sundira tries _not_ to freeze this time, but even slowing to a stop and pressing himself against a wall doesn't entirely silence the bells. Run or hide, run or hide...

He crouches down behind a table just as Geoff rounds the corner into the room.

“Oh, Sundira,” he singsongs under his breath, “won't you make a little noise for me...”

Sundira can't stop himself from shuddering. Geoff's head pricks up like a wolfhound's. “Stand up,” he orders. Trembling, Sundira obeys.

* * *

Geoff holds out his hand. “Kiss it,” he orders.

Sundira swallows. _Make me_ dances on the tip of his tongue. But no, he wanted this. Wants this.

He leans down and obeys with a resigned clink like a sad clown. There's a bright blue lipstick mark on Geoff's hand, and he reaches up to touch his lips for himself before remembering Jack's admonition. _Don't go getting all smudged up._

The hand he kissed whips around, startling him, and leaves a condescending pat on his head. “If you're the killer,” he taunts, “everyone will know it was you. So what of it, Sunshine?”

“Yellow, don't joke about my name.”

“Understood and accepted. What of it, Sundira?” (He puts no special stress on the name, and the tension goes out of Sundira's shoulders.) “Are you going to let yourself be baited into making a mistake?”

“No,” Sundira says.

“'No' what?”

He grits his teeth; odd how the humiliation can feel so real even when it's only a game. “No, _sir_ ,” he says, and adds “Green.”

Geoff nods, then turns and strides away. Sundira looks after him with a mixture of fear and longing. Geoff had been domineering, casually cruel (as requested), but at least Sundira hadn't been alone.

Unease roils in his gut like the rocking of the boat. He'd made it clear that he didn't want to play with water (although the _other_ meaning of 'watersports' was still on the table), so the Fakes won't intentionally throw him overboard, as they apparently do with each other, but what if there was an accident? What if—

He shakes his head to clear it. Water travel is _safe_. He's not going to drown just because there's water nearby, just like being on the sidewalk of a busy street doesn't mean he'll be run over.

“Who's still alive?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“Me.” Geoff still sounds smug.

“Same,” Jeremy says.

“I'm not,” Sachi deadpans.

“Alive.” Sundira knows that's Ryan because he's somehow managing to be horny about it.

“Gavin? Jack?” Geoff doesn't sound particularly concerned.

“I'm fine!”

“...Jack?”

Michael sighs. “One down.”

“Will you hooligans stop murdering my wife?”

“Jeremy, was it you?” Ryan asks.

“I mean, I _wish_ it was me, but no, I have the inconvenient handicap of not having started with the knife.”

“Ryan's accusing!” Gavin says.

“Hey, it's a legitimate question. J says he doesn't play favorites, but, well...”

Someone gasps.

“Geoff?” Michael asks urgently. “You okay?”

“ _I'm_ okay.”

“Oh, you found Jack.”

“I found Jack,” Geoff concurs wryly. “Somebody stabbed her in the throat. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm getting out of here.”

“Sure you don't want to stay by the body and get slit?” Jeremy banters. “With her in death as you were in life, et cet'ra?”

“She would have wanted me to live.”

“Well then, you'd best—”

“Micoo!” Gavin cries. Jeremy stops talking.

“Hands up.”

“Aww, don't you trust me?”

“Gavvy, if I didn't trust you, you'd be dead.”

There's silence for a moment. Another.

“No,” Michael says, sounding exasperated. “Ask me again when you have a gun.”

More silence. Then:

“Jeremy.”

“Michael,” Jeremy replies. “Gavin doesn't seem to be interested in it, but there is a box in this room. Permission to access it, Mr. Gunner?”

“We're done here anyway,” Michael says. “I'm gonna leave. Jer, shout if Gavin's following me. Gavin, wait a bit and leave this way.”

“But what if Jeremy's the killer?” Gavin blubbers.

“Be awful ballsy of him to kill you _now_.”

“Are you betting your boyfriend's life that Jeremy _isn't_ feeling ballsy?” Ryan whistles. “Cold.”

“Look, if the killer _isn't_ one of you two, there is an open doorway behind me. I'm getting out of here.”

“Wanna strip search me?”

“I can do it for you,” Jeremy says. “Don't want your gun arm getting tangled up.”

“Fine,” Michael allows. “But make it quick.”

* * *

Gavin's unreasonably flirtatious for the whole thing, but Jeremy seems to be complying with Michael's directive.

“He looks good in nothing but a pair of pink panties,” Michael says fondly. Sundira blushes, reminded of his own lace undergarments. “Pull 'em down so I can see.”

There's shuffling sounds, then a yelp.

“Ow! Ow-ow-ow, why would you...”

“Boner's still up,” Jeremy says pitilessly. “Looks like he likes being wedgied.”

“This is bullying! I'm being bullied!”

“Give him back his shoes,” Michael says. “Gav, panties or no panties?”

There's no verbal answer.

“No panties it is,” Michael says with satisfaction. “He's gonna be a damn sight when the killer gets him.”

“What do I do with his clothes?” Jeremy asks.

“Gavin, you know we could throw them overboard?”

There's a silence.

“...Shit,” Michael says. “Geoff's down.”

* * *

“Well, we're all clear, right?” Gavin says brightly. “You can give me back my clothes now?”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Jeremy and Michael both say. An in-joke? Probably.

“You're going to play out the rest of the round naked,” Michael decrees. “Out of respect to the memory of the deceased, your suit goes in that cabinet, which is a portal to the bottom of the ocean.”

“You mean a chute?” Sundira asks.

“Nah, suspension of disbelief.”

“Huh?”

“Ask Geoff after the round. Unless you need aftercare now?”

“Green,” Sundira says, “but confused. Later, though.”

“Later,” Michael confirms. “You two are my deputies. Suspicion is on the newbies and Ryan. What parts do you have?”

“Off mic,” Jeremy says, probably for his and Sachi's benefit, and then there's silence.

* * *

“Get ready for the deputies to abuse their power,” Ryan says.

“Scared?” Jeremy asks. “Are you the killer?”

“You picked _Jeremy_ and _Gavin_ for your deputies!”

“Oh, as if you're better.”

“ _Naked_ Gavin,” Jeremy adds. “Look on the bright side, you'll see his boner from across the yacht!”

“That's an idea,” Ryan says, and his tone turns caressing. “Wouldn't you like to find me, Gavin?” he says. “Or would you rather I found you? Your ass must still be smarting from the stunt Li'l J pulled. Don't worry, Daddy will kiss it better...”

“It's Ryan!” Gavin says. “Ryan's the killer!”

“Oh, you _wish_ I was the killer,” Ryan continues, “wish I could get you close enough to _stab_ , close enough to whisper threats in your ear while I—”

“C-come on, this isn't fair,” Jeremy says.

“All's fair in love and war,” Ryan murmurs. “What I wouldn't do to you.”

Sundira's head snaps up. There's motion—someone creeping forward. The bells go off like a gun in the quiet of the yacht at night.

“My mic's off,” Jeremy says softly. “I'm above suspicion. But you're not.”

“I don't have the knife.”

“Who're you talking to?” Gavin asks mistrustfully.

“Come on,” Jeremy says, “don't tell them. Let them wonder.”

“Jeremy, and he's being a creep.”

Jeremy sighs and turns his mic back on. “Anybody would do the same,” he gripes. “Just having a little fun with the collar-wearer. Is that a crime now?”

“Oh, _Jeremy_ ,” Gavin says. “Be safe, all right?”

“There's only three suspects left.” Michael's frustrated. As well he should be; he _just_ named Jeremy as a deputy. “If you die boinking the killer, I warned you.”

Jeremy smirks and stalks closer. “I'll let you say 'I told you so.'”

* * *

“The killer could come in,” Sundira says. He doesn't actually object to being fucked, but he likes trying to bargain his way out of it. “You can't do this. We'll both die.”

“Then we die,” Jeremy growls. “Strip.”

Sundira grins, feral, the smile of a prey animal that a predator mistakenly believes is cornered. “ _Make me._ ”

Jeremy pounces, knocking him off balance, nails digging under his jaw. Sundira pants for air. Jeremy spits in his mouth.

Sundira stops fighting from the shock of it, and _almost_ spits it out, but... that's fucking _hot_. He swallows, instead. Jeremy pushes him down on something soft and low. There was a couch, he remembers, and a... footrest. It must be that.

Jeremy kisses him, fast and rough, and his lips are blue when he draws away. Sundira reaches up and pulls him in for another kiss.

“Fine,” Michael says over coms. “Go ahead and make out with the killer. See if I care.”

“Don't wait up for me, babe!” Jeremy replies, and then, to Sundira, “Time to put those cock-sucking lips to good use.”

Sundira feels his cheeks heat. “Okay.”

* * *

They take it to the couch, only briefly distracted by Jeremy darting in to nip at Sundira's neck. Jeremy sits, and Sundira gets between his legs.

That's how neither of them notices when Ryan sneaks up behind Jeremy and slits his throat.

Jeremy's body jolts, and Sundira spits out his dick hastily and casts up an arm, making to defend. Ryan's posture is casual, despite the bloody knife in his hand.

“Y-you killed Jeremy!”

“No, _you_ killed Jeremy,” Ryan lies. “And you're going to fuck me at knifepoint. Quite the run for a first time killer.”

“Well, it's either Ryan or Sundira,” Michael says. “Smart money's on Ryan, though. I don't see how Sundira could've snuck up on Geoff.”

“Me neither,” Ryan says, “but he's new. That means we don't know what he's capable of.”

Michael grunts, unimpressed. “We'll see who's fucking who at knifepoint.”

The knife isn't actually engaged; Ryan's sitting on the couch next to Jeremy with his pants down looking at Sundira expectantly, and the knife sits loose in his hand. Sundira remembers that he's not allowed to touch it—not allowed to kill Ryan. Because Ryan is the killer, and Ryan is... fuck, Ryan is going to kill _him_.

The thrill of fear goes through him, raw and exhilarating. He shuffles over and kneels in front of Ryan.

Ryan taps his own com to turn it off, then reaches out and turns off _Sundira's_ too.

“Yellow,” Sundira says, “can Shaia and Shane still—”

“Yes,” Ryan says. “This just makes it not transmit to active players. It'll still record, and observers can still hear. You can also turn it back on, if you'd like to control your communications.”

“This is fine,” Sundira says with a grateful smile. “Uh, green. You were gonna make me suck your dick?”

Ryan nods and shifts the hand with the knife in a motion that somehow manages to _not_ be threatening.

* * *

“Yes please,” Sundira says, horny.

Ryan smiles. “You know,” he says, as Sundira settles between his legs, bells jingling, “I could be giving up my chance to win this round. Ordinarily, you know, I wouldn't go to all this, nn, trouble, just for a quick lay. But for the collar-wearer, well... it _is_ traditional.”

Sundira reaches up and flicks the collar, ringing the bells deliberately. Ryan groans.

“Opinions on facefucking?” Ryan asks.

Sundira has to think for a moment before putting out a thumbs-down. The idea is exciting, but he wants to try it in a lower-stakes situation before getting facefucked by someone who's pretending to rape him as a prelude to ending his life.

Ryan's smile becomes more of a smirk, and his next words are soft, even though they're alone.

“What about after you're dead?”

Sundira genuinely doesn't know what his face does, but Ryan laughs a little, fondly, and says “I'll take that as a no.”

* * *

“Well, well, well.” Michael's voice is coming from behind him, and Sundira tenses a beat after Ryan.

“Three holes in the ground,” Sachi contributes.

“Looks like I've found the killer,” Michael says over him.

Ryan shrugs. “You got me,” he says. Sundira keeps sucking his dick, because it seems like the thing to do.

“It's Ryan,” Michael says unnecessarily. “And he seems to have been distracted. Good work, Sundira.”

Like this was _Sundira's_ idea.

“I don't like to interrupt a person when they're getting head,” Michael continues. “Especially when the giver is so fucking _pretty_. You go ahead and enjoy your honeypot, Vagabond. A man should have a chance to _savor_ his last meal.”

“You okay with that?” Ryan asks him, and Sundira gives a thumbs up.

* * *

Sundira half expects Ryan to have trouble keeping it up under Michael's silent scrutiny, but if anything, he's getting off on it. That makes sense, really. Sundira of all people would know that sexual sensation can be stronger after one's defeat is assured.

So he's not all that surprised that Ryan gets off quickly. Sundira sucks him through it, then spits it out on Jeremy's discarded pants.

The surprising thing is that Sundira survives.

Ryan doesn't. When Ryan's still panting, head thrown back against the top of the couch, Michael's bullet rips a hole through his head.

Sundira flinches away from the dead body, looking to Michael with reflexive fear. Michael has lowered the gun.

“You okay?” he asks. “Round's over. If you want aftercare...”

“Yeah,” Sundira says. “Uh, yeah, I think I'm... done with sex for the moment.”

“Got it. Anything in particular you _do_ want to do?”

“Don't suppose this boat has a mirror?”

* * *

Sundira looks at himself in the mirror Michael showed him to (apparently, a bathroom on a boat is called a “head”). He's... Michael wasn't wrong to call him _pretty_.

The collar is red leather, matching his red eyes, and the bells are silver against his brown skin. The black liner paint around his eyes extends past the edges of the eye, making a curving triangle shape, and his eyelids are as vibrantly blue as his lips, although the lipstick is smeared and there's faint blue marks on his neck.

He looks down, and the dress is tight enough that his boner is downright _obvious_. Despite his words to Michael, he's gonna want to deal with that (at some point after he leaves the accursed boat).

The blush is all him.

**Author's Note:**

> There may or may not be sequels to this.


End file.
